


just before you see the light

by Alysae



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Nightmares, Psychological Torture, Whump, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alysae/pseuds/Alysae
Summary: Physical torture isn't enough for Gellert Grindelwald, as Percival discovered in the worst way possible.





	just before you see the light

~~~~It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real—

  
“Director Graves? Are you feeling ill?” Tina Goldstein’s worried voice reaches him.

  
Graves looked up at her. She stood in front of his desk, straight back, but she was frowning in worry. Like always—she wore her heart in her sleeve. She had a stack of papers tucked under her arm.

  
He sighed wearily, looking at his desk. It was full of papers—like always. “I'm fine,” he says, and that answer didn't even fool _him_.

  
“If you’re feeling unwell,” Goldstein says, a bit hesitant, “you should stay at home, resting.”

  
“No, I'm fine.”

  
He suddenly stands up, making Goldstein flinch, and starts walking towards the door, completely ignoring the woman’s questioning look.

  
Wake up, wake up, wake up, _wakeupwakeupwake **up**_ —

  
“Would you like some whiskey? Oh, and do sit down, Percy.”

  
He looked around, unsurprised. He stood in Seraphina’s office.

She was walking to her cabinet, spelling a bottle of whiskey to pour in two glasses. She came back to her desk, and sat in her chair.

  
When Graves didn't move from his spot at the doorframe, she raised an eyebrow. “Is anything the matter, Percival?”

  
He could really use a drink, actually. He sat on the chair in front of the desk. “Nothing, Seraphina. I should be the one asking that. Why did you call me here?”

  
She looked surprised for a moment, before looking pensive. “So I did,” she ended up saying quietly, seeming lost in her thoughts.

  
While his brain processed the changes, he gulped the whiskey down his throat, ignoring the burn.

  
“Ah—Hopkins told me about that problem you had last week with a creature. How did that go?”

  
Graves raised a brow but played along. “It was a troll, nothing much. Problem solved quickly, actually.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “And Hopkins should keep his mouth shut.”

  
Seraphina looked utterly lost, like she hadn't been following the conversation at all. “A troll? Ah… And why shouldn’t Hopkins report to me?”

  
“I'm the director, aren't I? I should be the one reporting to you, Madame President.”

  
Seraphina frowned again, but before she could reply anything, a loud crash behind him distracted Graves.

  
A young man had dropped a suitcase. Behind curly ginger hair, his eyes looked mortified. “I'm so sorry! I hadn't meant it, I swear! They're not dangerous!”

  
“What isn't?” Graves asked, confused—he had never met this man before. What was he doing here?

  
Talking about _here_ … The setting has changed: instead of the luxurious president office, they were in the courtroom.

  
“They’re not dangerous!” The man was now screaming—and he was being dragged out of the room, shouting over and over again, until he couldn't hear him anymore.

  
This was new. This wasn't any of his memories… Was Grindelwald playing with his mind again?

  
Wakeupwakeupwakeup—

  
“That won't work,” his own face said mockingly.

  
Graves was now in a dark room, he didn't know where. He was bound, his right leg throbbed painfully and his lip was split and bleeding. His face ached terribly.

  
In front of him stood Grindelwald—but he was using Graves appearance. He had a smug smile and cold eyes, looking down at him like he was some sort of play toy.

  
“Who was that man?” Graves asks instead, trying with all his might to ignore the pain in his chest and how difficult it was to _talk_.

  
“Not been paying attention, have you?” Grindelwald said mockingly. “I've talked a lot about him—Newton Scamander, remember?”

  
_Now_ he remembered. The magizoologist that was causing Grindelwald so much trouble. Had he been free, Graves would’ve congratulated the man (and then lectured him because _illegal creatures)_.

  
“Mmh. And do you remember the boy I told you about? Credence?”

  
Graves shook his head wearily, but it only gave him a severe headache. “Leave them alone.”

  
“Who? Your Aurors? The orphans? MACUSA? Your Wizarding World?” Grindelwald questions, voice still mocking as he approached his face.

  
Graves spit on it, feeling smugly satisfied with himself as his impersonator pulled a disgusted face.

  
_Slap!_

  
His cheek stung—

  
“Back to sleep you go,” his own voice said, distorted by the fog inside his mind.

  
But he was already asleep. He was _always_ asleep. He had never woken up.

  
He doesn't know when he is awake anymore.

  
An awful shriek rang all around him—it came from his right, his left, above, under— _everywhere_.

  
He woke up suddenly, shoulders shaking, hands trembling, fingers gripping his blanket. He felt his skin clammy with perspiration, his wet hair was sticking to his forehead, his breath was laboured…

  
He looked around, recognising his bedroom. His home. He blinked, trying to remember what dream got him so worked up—something about being stuck.

  
Something in stomach churned painfully at the thought. What was it? What was this awful dream that got him so worked up?

  
Dream—

  
He looked up suddenly, looking wildly around.

  
_Was this—?_

  
Was he still dreaming? Was this real?

  
He didn't _know_.


End file.
